Bangladesh 1971: The Days and Nights of Pakistani Butchers

In 1971, I was a final year civil engineering
student at EPUET (now BUET). We were about to graduate when the
political turmoil in East Pakistan just got started. As we were
preparing for our final examination, when suddenly, the university
was closed due to the unrest all around us. This recount I am about
to tell, would bring into the fore one more time the inhuman
butchery and atrocities committed by the Pakistan army as I
witnessed with my own eyes. This had been the most horrific
experiences of my life and to put it mildly this had a profound
impact on my views on religion and politics.

On the eve of 25th March, 1971, I
was staying at Shere-e- Bangla Hall of EPUET. Just a few days before
that the political problems engulfed East Pakistan as General Yahya
steadfastly refused to accept the mandate of the people of East
Pakistan for full autonomy. The students were on strike. Actually,
it was the exam time and I was preparing for my final year
examination as I said it before. However, due to the political
unrest, the examination was withheld and many students had left the
residential halls and went back home. I was, though, actively
involved in student politics. Therefore, I decided to stay put in
the hall so that should a need arises I shall be available to join
the movement. A few days before the 25th March there were
persistent rumours in the air that the talk between Mujib and
General Yahya was not progressing well and that there was that
possibility of a military crackdown looming over the horizon.
However, the government media cleverly played down this rumour by
insisting that the talks were fruitful. Some newspapers even
suggested that General Yahya was prepared to hand over the power to
a civilian government where both Bhutto and Mujib will have major
roles. With those types of misleading information many people
thought that at last the Bangalees will have a chance to taste their
freedom after a sojourn of about thirteen years. But that did not
happen. On the fateful night of 25th March,1971, the
Pakistan army came out from the cantonment with fury to teach the
Bangalees a lesson of their lifetime that they will never forget.
And surely they did.

This is my very personal recount of the
nights and days on and immediately after March 25,1971.

I went to bed a bit early at around 9.00 at
night. I was quite tired for the whole day and quickly I fell into
my sleep. Suddenly at around 11.00 P.M, my deep slumber was
disturbed by a the noise of a constant barrage of gunfire. At first,
I thought that it must be the firecracker's by Bangalees to
celebrate the victory. But soon I realised my mistake. I opened the
window. It was very dark. Not even the dim streetlights were
burning. But there I could barely see numerous military vehicles
moving around with soldiers with theirs automatic rifles.
Occasionally, I could see very bright searchlights mounted on some
of the military trucks and jeeps. Many soldiers were running and
shooting in the street. I saw a large convoy of military vehicles
had surrounded the whole of the EPUET area. As far as my eyes could
go, I could see military men all around the campus. I could even
hear the army people talking loud in Urdu downstairs in our hall. I
immediately knew what was going on. I thanked my lucky star that I
switched off the room light before I went to bed. There was
deafening noise from the machine gun and automatic rifles, which
were not too far from where I stood. I just could not believe what
was going on. I was alone in the room; there was nobody to comfort
me on that fateful night. Being panic-struck, I started trembling
and fell down on my bed.

Then, all on a sudden a hail of bullet
shattered the nearby window. The bullets hit the ceiling and walls
and then hit the floor. A thought passed through my mind. I knew I
was going to die. Without thinking much I went under my bed as a
protection against hitting by stray bullets. I lied on my chest and
grabbed the floor as if that was my life. The firing continued
incessantly for almost the whole night. Then suddenly there was a
lull. No machine gun or rifle sound. I thought it was over. So I
slowly came out from my hiding place and sat on my bed. I looked at
my wristwatch. I could not see very well. It was 3.00 A.M or so, I
guessed. Suddenly, there was an extremely loud noise and the whole
area was brightly lit. I could not resist the curiosity. Through the
shattered window pane what I saw was utterly unbelievable. I saw a
military tank throwing fire on the slums (Bastee). The slum
was just next to our halls and along the old railway track. I saw
people running out of their hovels. As the slum dwellers came out to
escape the fire, the Pakistani soldiers started to shoot them with a
machine-gun that was mounted on a military truck. I could see only
one truck with the machine gun near our hall. But I am sure there
were many more on other sides as I could see the fires from these
machine-guns dropping like August showers in the darkness of the
spring night. It was a seen I have watched only in TV and movies on
Vietnam wars. I could hear the desperate cry for help from those
hapless victims. I closed the window as I thought that one of those
bullets would be enough for me. I sat on the floor and suddenly
realised that this is it. There was no escape for me.

Time passed and slowly the morning broke the
silence of the eerie night. I could still see the military people
from my window. I switched on my transistor radio on a very low
volume to hear what was going on. The Dhaka Radio Station was dead.
I switched to Calcutta . There was no mention of East Pakistan
except that General Yahya Khan had left Dhaka after the final talks
with Mujib. So I switched to Karachi. Now I got the news that I
wanted to hear so desperately. There was a special announcement that
General Yahya was going to speak to the nation. I heard him
speaking. It was the voice of a heavily drunken person that one can
tell. I cannot recall all that he said. But there were few words
that I still remember to the letters. These words were "Mujib's act
is an act of treason. He will not go unpunished." Yahya Khan ended
by saying that Mujib will be tried by a special military tribunal.
The news announced that Sheik Mujibur Rahman along with Dr. Kamal
Hussain had been arrested and taken to West Pakistan for the trial.
I also heard Bhutto saying that "Thank God. Pakistan was saved."

In the meanwhile the fire in the slum
continued and I noticed a strange odor in the air. It took me
sometime to figure out that it was indeed the smell of burning
flesh. I did not hear any fire brigade siren or anything like that
although there was a fire brigade office just next to our hall in
Palashi. It was almost 8 o'clock in the morning and the fire slowly
started to diminish after devouring the nearby shantytown. From my
window I could see the tank moving out from our area. I again lied
on my bed and started to search other radio stations for news.
Suddenly, I heard mild knocking on my door. I froze. I felt that my
blood circulation had suddenly stopped. In front of my eyes I saw
nothing but white colour. I could not move from my bed. I just lay
still. After a while there was another knock. Now it stroke my mind
that if it was the army they will not wait for my response. They
would simply burst open my door and start shooting. There must be
some one else, I guessed. So, I went near the window close to the
door and looked. I saw Monju, my next door neighbour crawling on his
chest near my door. I gingerly opened a little of the door and asked
him what was wrong. He whispered to me that something was wrong with
his roommate, Ashraf. Monju asked me to follow him to his room. I
opened the door silently and slowly crawled on my chest to Monju's
room. I found Ashraf lying on the floor with eyes wide open but his
mouth shut and he was vigorously shivering. There was water all
over. I asked Monju why was there so much of water on the floor.
Monju replied that it was not water. It was Ashraf's urine. He told
me that Ashraf had urinated several times and now he (Ashraf) cannot
talk. I called Ashraf very softly. He just stared at me but could
not say anything. I knew what had happened. Ashraf had a nervous
breakdown. I told Monju that we keep whispering to him that the
military is gone and we are safe. Surprisingly, after whispering for
about 15 to 20 minutes Ashraf started to murmur a few words. After a
while he simply whispered, "Please, please, do not leave me." I told
Ashraf that what ever happens the three of us will remain together.
If we die we shall die together. This assurance from us made Ashraf
slowly come back to normal. All of us were very hungry and thirsty.
So we ate the stale bread and some water. Then we talked how each of
us passed the dreaded night.

It was around midday and we found that all
the military personnel had left our area. There was no sound of
gunfire, no sound of military trucks or vehicles. In fact, there was
an eerie unbearable silence all around the campus. No bus, no
rickshaw, no car, hardly any people on the streets. We thought that
it was our best opportunity to escape from the hall. We tuned to AIR
and heard about the indefinite curfew in Dhaka. But we decided to
escape no matter what happens even if that meant breaking the curfew
and being shot at by the military. We decided that I shall go to
Monju's apartment at Azimpur Government quarters. Both Monju and
Ashraf used to live at Azimpur quarters. I crawled back to my room,
put on my shoes and grab my transistor radio. The three of us then
slowly started to climb down the stairs hiding ourselves as much as
we could.

We went to the ground floor. To our
disappointment we found the entry/exit gate was locked. The guards
had locked the gate and fled. Later on, we realised that that action
by the hall guards actually had saved our lives. In frustration, we
came back to our room on the second floor. Then we decided to go to
1st floor and jump from the balcony/verandah. At first,
we thought of leaving the radios behind. Then we realised that the
radio was the only means by which we could know what was going on in
East Pakistan. The three of us then jumped in the garden. Luckily,
the jump was a success. Then we quickly ran. While running across
the hall compound we saw the gruesome scenes of killing by the
Pakistani army. In Liaquat Hall (I suppose it is Titumeer Hall now,
but I'm not sure) we saw plenty of blood and a dead body possibly
the guard's. (Later, I learnt that four students were killed at
Liaquat Hall.) We quickly ran to the Fire Brigade Centre in Palashi.
The Centre was very close to our residential Hall. We thought of
taking temporary refuge in Fire Brigade building before proceeding
to Azimpur colony. There was a small mosque inside the Fire Brigade
compound. I saw four dead bodies there. All were riddled with
numerous bullet holes. The floor of the mosque was flooded with
blood. I thought that some Fire Brigade people tried to take shelter
in the mosque hoping that Pakistanis will not commit murder in a
place of worship. But how wrong they were! We saw many other dead
bodies on the compound of the Fire Brigade. Some dead bodies were
inside the Fire Brigade trucks and ambulance. They took shelter
inside these vehicles hoping to escape the onslaught. Most likely
none of the Fire Brigade people survived. Then we arrived at the
road that separates the Azimpur Colony from the Palashi. On the road
we found many dead bodies scattered everywhere mainly of rickshaw
pullers.

There was a high wall at the entry of the
Azimpur Colony. We did not know what to do at that point. The curfew
was on and if any army people saw us they surely will kill us. We
had no choice but to jump over the wall. To our utter surprise we
could jump over the wall and fell on the other side of the wall. I
still do not know how I did that. May be our adrenaline was running
high after all that happened to us. I am sure that if I have to jump
that wall again, I shall surely fail.

After jumping inside the Azimpur colony we
felt a little safer and we all heaved a great sigh of relief. Monju
suggested that I go and stay with him. Ashraf was too nervous to say
anything. So, firstly we escorted Ashraf to his quarter and then
Monju and I headed towards Monju's quarter. When Monju's father and
mother saw us they simply hold us tight and started crying. We
quickly went inside the bedroom and told our story. Monju's father
said that they were certain that Pakistani army had killed us as he
had witnessed the army operation from the window. We realised how
lucky we really were to be alive that fateful night. Monju's mother
prepared some food for us. We were extremely hungry. I finished all
the food served to me. During this time we did not hear much gun
shots in the local area of Azimpur. But we could hear the non-stop
machine gun firing in the distance. We carefully opened a little bit
of the window. All we saw was smoke and fire all around, a little
away from Azimpur. We guessed that it was old Dhaka area possibly
near the Buriganga river and Sadarghat. After the liberation, it was
found that the killing and destruction done by the Pak military was
one of the worst in the old Dhaka area. They have killed virtually
each and every person in the Hindu dominated Shankari Patti in the
Old Dhaka. The fire and smoke was so terrible that at night the
whole sky was red. In the evening we ate some food and we tried to
sleep. But none of us could hardly shut our eyelids. The whole night
we searched the world on radio. At last we got the news from BBC of
what was going on in East Pakistan. The Dhaka radio station was
working again only playing mainly Urdu patriotic songs and Islamic
verses. We were now sure that our dream of a free nation had
suddenly vanished. The Pakistani army had captured us as slaves. The
whole night we mostly talked about what would happen to the
Bangalees since all our struggle was in vain. Finally, the morning
came. At around 9 o'clock we heard in Dhaka radio that the curfew
had been relaxed for six hours only. We found many people on the
street. I suggested to Monju that I better go home and see if my
family members were alive. As our house was in Nakhalpara (very
close to cantonment and the airport), Monju, his father and mother
were very reluctant that I should take the risk. However, after my
constant insistence they let me go, but reminded me to return
immediately to them if I had problem. Until today, I can never repay
their debt. You can tell they were really so concerned about me.

So, I came open in the street. I found people
and people all around me. No bus, no truck. Hardly any rickshaw
plying the street. There were occasional cars and military vehicles
with fierce looking soldiers and machine gun mounted trucks and
jeeps. I asked some people where were they headed to. Most of them
replied that they did not know. They simply wanted to leave the city
and go to villages where they felt they would be safe. Many of them
headed towards Sadarghat hoping that they could catch a steamer or a
launch to go to villages. I also did not know what to do. Since
there were no transport it would be very difficult for me to walk
all the way to Nakhalpara. I thought of going back to Monju's place.
Then I changed my mind when I found that thousands of people are
walking, many of them bare footed and with nothing but their clothes
on. So, I also started walking. Whatever happens to these people
will also happen to me, I thought. The first place I came was Iqbal
Hall (now Sergeant Zahurul Hall?). The scene I saw in Iqbal Hall was
beyond any description, I swear! The whole area was like a
battlefield. I knew that DUCSU VP Tofail Ahmed used to live there.
There were holes on the walls created by mortar shells. Those holes
were visible from afar. When I arrived at the playground of the
Hall, I saw about 30 dead bodies all lined up for display to the
public. Many of the dead bodies were beyond any recognition due to
innumerable bullet holes on their faces. That was a gruesome sight.
Many people started crying. My friend Jafar used to live in Iqbal
hall. I did not see his dead body. Later, I learnt that his dead
body was found in his bed. Needless to say, the displayed corpses
were merely a small fraction of the students that Pak army had
murdered in Iqbal Hall on that dreadful night. They simply displayed
a few corpses to frighten and to break the morale of all Bangalees.

Anyway, I had to hurry along. I started to
walk again and came to the central Shaheed Minar. I saw the entire
Shaheed Minar was nothing but a heap of rubble. Many people could
not believe what they saw. The army had totally destroyed the
Shaheed Minar by using powerful explosives, I guessed. Amongst all
the cruelties inflicted on the Bangalees that night, I think the
destruction of the central Shaheed Minar was the cruelest of all. I
noticed some blood on the smooth and shiny floor of Shaheed Minar.
But I did not see any dead body. May be the Pak army decided to
remove the corpses from the street area so that their movement won't
be affected. I really cried when I saw the Shaheed Minar. Even the
displayed corpses at Iqbal Hall could not bring tears to my eyes and
make me cry. But I could not hold my tears when I saw the corpse of
the Shaheed Minar. The shock was much too much for me.

I started to walk again and came to Jagannath
Hall. The entire Jagannath Hall compound was like another
battlefield. I saw the footprints of tractor vehicles. There were
huge holes on the walls of the Jagannath Hall. I guessed that the
army had used tanks in Jagannath Hall. In front of the Jagannath
Hall lawn I saw a huge mass grave. The grave was so fresh and
shallow that we could see some half buried corpse. Some hands and
feet protruding from under the soil due to the consolidation of
soil, I guess. It was a grotesque scene, to put it mildly. I do not
know how many people were buried there. Judging from the size of the
grave, my guess was at least a few hundreds. After the liberation of
Bangladesh many of us have seen the video footage of this brutality
of the Pak army. The video was taken secretly by a brave EPUET (now
BUET) professor from the window of his apartment

By the side of Jagannath hall there was a
small narrow road. On the side of this road and on behind the back
of Rokeya Hall there were a large number of washermen (dhopa)
who used to live in small quarters with their families. Their number
could be around 50 or more. I found that Pak army had burnt down the
entire area. I could see the charred bodies of children and adults
still in the burnt bed. On the side of the dhopa quarter and by the
side of the road, I saw another freshly dug shallow mass grave. I
could see the feet and hands of children and adults sticking out
from the grave trying to tell the entire world what did happen to
them. All people who passed by saw this terrible sight and shook
their heads in utter disbelief.

After a long and tiring walk, I came to
Shahbag Hotel (now IPGMR). The building (hotel) was intact. I looked
at Dhaka Radio Station. No sign of devastation. Although, there was
heavy military guards including tanks and armoured vehicles around
the radio station. There was no damage to Inter-Continental Hotel
(now Sheraton Dhaka). Then I came to the office of the daily
newspaper 'The People.' My friend Obaid was a sub-editor with the
'People.' Naturally I went to find his whereabouts. What I saw was
disbelieving. The entire office of the 'People' along with a few
more shop houses was burnt to ashes. The place was still smoldering.
When I went a little closer. I saw many dead bodies burnt like
charcoal. They were absolutely unrecognisable. Only the shape says
that they were human. The area was filled with the smell of burnt
flesh (like barbecue smell). I do not know the fate of Obaid. But
until today I never heard anything about him. So I assume that he
was burnt alive in that inferno.

I came out from the ruins of the 'People.' As
I was walking past the fashionable Sakura Restaurant (I am not sure
if the restaurant is still in business or not) a car suddenly
stopped near me. I was astonished to see my father, mother, and
sisters all inside the car. My mother and sisters were weeping. My
father asked me to get inside the car. My mother simply hugged me
and started to cry loudly. I asked my father what had happened. My
father said they were simply fortunate to be alive. Then he told me
that we were all going to Dhanmondi to stay with our grandfather. My
mother told me that she never expected to see me again as they heard
that the army had killed each and every student in the residential
halls.

Soon we arrived at my grand father's house.
My grandfather was simply happy to see us alive. We ate some food.
Then my mother narrated their fateful night of the 25th
March.

So this was how it happened at our home on
March 25, 1971. The recount was based on what I did hear from my
mother.

Round about midnight everyone in our house
woke up with noises of heavy vehicles, people marching on boots,
loud shouting, bright lights and some more gunfire. At first they
erroneously believed that it must be a victory celebration. That was
because just before every one went to sleep, there were rumours that
Yahya Khan had agreed to transfer power to Mujib. However, when my
folks opened the window they couldn't believe what they saw. It was
shocking to see that the entire Nakhalpara area had been cordoned
off by armoured military trucks. The soldiers with rifles and
machine guns were running all over the place. Also, there were very
bright searchlights all around. My family also noticed jeeps mounted
with machine guns very close to our house. Naturally everyone was
frightened. Being nervous my mother started praying without loosing
any time. A few minutes later they heard a loud banging in our front
door. They were at loss not knowing what to do. My father picked up
the courage and opened the entrance door. Four soldiers with pointed
rifle immediately entered our lounge. They asked everyone to line up
in the lounge. So, my father, my younger brother, my brother in-law,
my four sisters, nephew and niece and my mother all obliged by
lining up in the crammed space. All of them were shivering in hot
March night. Then one of the soldiers separated the males from the
females. The males were ordered to remain in the lounge. All the
females including my mother were ordered in the bedroom nearby. At
that stage my mother started crying and fell down on the knees of
the soldiers for their mercy. The soldiers simply dragged her to the
bedroom. One soldier guarded the males while the other guarded the
female quarter. The two other soldiers then started ransacking each
and every item in every room including the food in the kitchen. They
even examined the newspapers and other documents even though they
did not understand a single word of Bangla.

One of the soldiers then found the shotgun
that my father had always had with him. I have seen that shot gun
since my birth. It was licensed and completely legal. I have seen my
father going for hunting with his favourite shotgun every once in a
while when time permits. The soldier who found the shotgun came
immediately to the male captives. He demanded to know whose shotgun
was that. My father calmly replied in broken Urdu that he was the
lawful owner of the gun. The soldier then pointed his automatic
rifle at my father and ordered him to follow him downstairs. My
father knew that he had only a few minutes to live. At that stage my
younger brother stood between the rifle and my father and requested
the soldier that he wants to accompany my father. The soldier became
furious at the insolence shown by my brother. The soldier threw my
brother on the floor and started pushing my father with his rifle
towards the exit door. My father then requested the soldier to look
at the license of the shotgun. But alas, the soldier could neither
read nor understand the English language. So the soldier said that
he had to call his officer. Another army man was called to guard
while he went outside looking the for the officer.

After about fifteen minutes the soldier
returned with the officer. My father was not sure what was the rank
of the officer. Thank God! The officer was not as brute as the lower
ranking jawan. The officer showed little bit of courtesy
for my elderly father. He asked my father to take a seat so that he
could examine the document. After a thorough examination the officer
then asked my father why he had not surrendered his weapon to police
station. My father replied that there was no directive to that
effect. The officer then rebuked my father for being so stupid to
keep the weapon in the house when there were so many miscreants in
the area. My father agreed with him and asked for his forgiveness.
The officer then said that my father's life will be spared but they
will have to confiscate the shotgun. Then he started interrogating
every one on various matters including our religion and political
affiliation. My father became the spokesman. He answered what the
army men wanted to hear. That we are all Muslims and we have no
connection with the Awami League or any pro-freedom party etc., etc.

The officer then asked my father how many
sons he had. My father replied two. He inquired about the
whereabouts of his sons. My younger brother identified himself. He
told the officer that he had finished his HSC and waiting to go to
EPUET (now BUET). The officer then asked my father about me. My
father replied that I was about to graduate from EPUET. The army
officer then demanded to know why I was not at home. At that point
my father could guess the real reason these army people are barging
into our home. He carefully said that I was very studious and I
preferred to study with my friends. So I did not come home for a few
days. The army officer then started to note down all the details
about me and told my father that as soon as I returned home he (my
father) must contact him through telephone. I was simply lucky that
my father did not disclose the University residential hall that I
was staying. The officer then warned my father not to leave our
house as they may come to investigate again. My father said no
problem. Throughout this ordeal, my brother-in-law did not talk much
because he was actively involved in NAP politics!

When the interrogation of the male members
was complete the officer then entered the bedroom to view his female
captives. Needless to say, my mother feared what might happen to her
daughters. My eldest sister was a schoolteacher. My next two sisters
were college going and only my youngest sister was still in her
childhood. My mother was so hysterical that she kneeled down to the
two soldiers and begged them that whatever they wanted to do let
them take her daughters out of her sight. The soldiers were simply
laughing and taunting my mother and sister with abusive language and
accusing them of being pro Awami League. They told my sisters that
very soon they would take them to cantonment. At that stage my
eldest sister picked up some courage and told them in pidgin (in
broken) Urdu that they cannot simply do that without a warrant of
arrest.

The soldiers laughed heartily hearing the
response from my sister and said that they were not police. They
were army and they could do whatever they wanted. Luckily, at that
point the army officer entered the bedroom. My sister asked the army
officer why they were being harassed. The officer told my sister
that he had information that there were many miscreants in our area.
Their duty was to catch these miscreants and take them to cantonment
for punishment. He then told my sister that he had found us very
gentle, polite and cooperative and so he will let all of us go free
this time. But he wanted to let everyone know that they will come
again. At last he showed some respect to my mother by apologising to
her and saying good bye to her in chost Urdu. But before
the officer departed he whispered something to his recruits. The two
soldiers then forced my elder sister to open the steel Almirah
(Safety box) . They took all the money and the jewelry that
were there for safekeeping. Thus, in a hurry we lost most of our
valuables.

After almost 36 hours the curfew was lifted
for 6 hours. My family members heard the wailing sound of
bereavement all around the area. The Pakistan army had taken many
people from Nakhalpara area to cantonment that night. Most of those
taken were young students. It was a sheer miracle that my family
members were spared. None were taken to the cantonment. It is not
known how many of those unfortunate people lost their lives because
until today their whereabouts are not known. Be that as it may, most
of them never returned home. All the residents of Nakhalpara
realised that the area was absolutely unsafe to stay. Therefore,
most residents left Nakhalpara almost barefooted with only the
clothes they were wearing. My family also followed the suit. They
also left Nakhalpara immediately after the curfew was lifted. From
grapevine we heard that Dhanmondi was a safe area. So we went to our
grandpa's house over there in to seek refuge and secrecy. A few days
later we heard the dreadful news from Chittagong. Two of my uncles
were killed in Agrabad Railway colony in a military operation
similar to the one the army did in Nakhalpara operation. The army
call those "Mop Up Operation." To us, the Bangalees those operation
was akin to serving the death notice or something similar to that.

After few weeks my younger brother secretly
ventured to Nakhalpara to see in his own eyes the condition of our
homestead. To his horror he found that everything including a bag of
rice had been removed or stolen. So we became destitute right away.
But that did hardly dampened our spirit. We knew we were not alone
in this struggle. Life became Durbishoho (I can't find an
appropriate synonym in English). It was an struggle every day for
the rest of the nine-month period.

For the last 29 years I have always wondered
why the army had targeted our house and our family. It had always
been a mystery to me. Now I have some clue to that question after
such a long period of time. Ashrafuzzaman Khan (the then member of
the central committee of the Islami Chatra Sangha) used to live at
Nakhalpara. This piece of information I got from the Internet.

As I write this re-count, I learnt that 100
new 'killing fields' have been discovered all around Bangladesh. Was
I surprised? No, not at all! However, what surprised me the most was
why did it take so long? Why did we have to wait almost 30 years to
know that innocent folks were butchered just as cattle? Rest assured
that many more killing fields will be found. The killing fields of
Cambodia, Kosovo, Bosnia, Afghanistan, etc., will be nothing when
compared to the killing fields in Bangladesh. Let us not forget
these killing fields. Let us not forget the sacrifice of 3 million
people who shed enough blood to change the verdure of monsoon
drenched land of Bengal. They certainly gave their lives so that we
can enjoy the fruits of freedom. Freedom from the tyranny of Punjabi
masters and Pakistani Oligarchy. I would ask every Bangalees not to
forget the butchers of those nights and days when we remember the
fallen angels of our land. The crime should never go unpunished.